One hour passes, then two, then three. Three hours of grey on grey on white on black on grey. And it’s not exactly comfortable either. The chair is painful on Atlas’s ass, and it’s several degrees colder than she would like it. Atlas thinks that she will lose her mind if she spends much more time here.
With nothing to do, her imagination runs wild throughout the little room. She thinks about what kind of monsters and ghosts could show up in that huge, annoying mirror. She imagines vampires storming in and flipping the table for no reason whatsoever. She thinks about what havoc a changeling could cause if it took her face.
I survived hell; this is nothing.
Hell was always moving, always burning; something was always happening. Even if it was the worst thing, it never sat still. This room is stillness personified. But that is the point, she thinks.
Finally, after nearly three hours of sitting in the horrible grey room doing nothing and thinking about everything, the door to Atlas’s room opens once more.
But this time, instead of Morgan or Reid or JJ, Crowley walks in.
“Crowley?” Atlas asks, eyes wide, leaning forward, surprise evident in her voice. She takes in the short Scottish demon. His black cloak and hair stark against the grey and white of the room. “What are you doing here?”
The demon breaks into a wicked grin. “Your brothers sent me.” He says, accent thick. “I owed Moose a favor; this is him calling it in.” He waves a hand lazily, as though he would rather be anywhere but here. On her wrists, the handcuffs click open, but Atlas doesn’t move. “Come on then.”
“What?” Atlas asks, still slightly stunned.
How is Crowley getting her out? The BAU has an iron grip on her with all the charges; there is no way even Sam and his law degree could get around that.
Then she remembers that Crowley is a demon, and demons don’t play by the law.
“What do you mean ‘what?’ You're coming with me. Come on, let’s get out of this pigpen.” he says, turning tail toward the door.
“I’m not going with you, Crowley,” Atlas says sternly, not moving from her seat, no matter how uncomfortable she is.
Crowley continues talking over her, “Maybe we can stop for lobster on the way- wait, what?” he wheels around, staring at her like she’s mad.
Atlas shakes her head. “I’m not going with you.”
“What do you mean you're not coming? How else do you intend on getting out of here?” he hisses, waving at the camera in the corner and the mirror. Atlas prays that no one is watching from that camera, or else they’ll see a blurred and ghostly image instead of Crowley’s face.
Atlas rolls her eyes internally, demons and their tricks. Just more complications she doesn’t need right now.
“I'm talking to them, Crowley.” She insists. “They're my friends; they’re listening to me.” she lies. Morgan and Emily barely let her speak, yet alone take her words to heart. Atlas doesn’t know if the others will be any different, but she has to try, right?
He takes a step forward; his voice is sarcastic, turning to anger. “Oh, listening to you, are they? Did you forget who they are? Their cops, and they don't see any world other than their own.” Crowley closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they're black as night. Atlas suppresses a shiver. “Or did you forget about ours?”
“How could I with big bird over my shoulder this whole time?” she deflects. Crowley looks to the corner, where Gabriel would be leaning had he been present. The angel may not be in the room, but they can feel his presence, his energy. He’s watching.
Angels and demons have hated each other since the beginning of time. Atlas’s predicament or their newly aligned interests aren't going to change that.
“Fine,” Crowley growls, straightening. He blinks again, and his eyes return to normal as though the piece of hell was never there. “Stay here among the pigs. But know that your brothers won't be happy when I come back empty-handed.”
Atlas snorts and rolls her eyes. “They'll live.”
“Oh yea, live to do something stupid.” Crowley spits, then turns and stalks from the room, but just before he leaves, he turns around, fixing her with an icy glare. “They're not your friends, kid. Friends don't throw each other in jail.”
An angry fire roars up in Atlas’s core. “What would you know about friends?” She snaps back.
Crowley looks away for a moment, almost dejectedly. But it's gone in an instant, replaced with cold indifference.
“You want my advice?” He speaks again before Atlas can tell him where to shove his advice. “Lie through your teeth, like you just did to me.” He hisses. “They’re not going to listen to you or believe you because they aren’t your friends. They hate you; they hate people like you and don’t believe in beings like me. They know nothing of what’s going on here, and you shouldn’t let them in on it.” he pauses, thinking. “Lie.” He finishes.
Crowley slips from the room and disappears without another word, leaving Atlas feeling more alone than ever.